


Dancing With the Stars

by MEIXIU



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Canon Divergence, Comedy, Dancing, Implied Sexual Content, Lots of it, M/M, Movie References, Post Grand Prix Finals Celebrations, Yuuri and Victor Are Amazing Dancers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 21:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8816473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MEIXIU/pseuds/MEIXIU
Summary: The Grand Prix Finals Closing Banquet held in Barcelona was a lot different than the one held in Sochi. For one thing, Yuuri Katsuki was happy and sober. For another, he was the gold-medalist and not the last placer. And finally, the former star of last year's event was holding his hand instead of being across the room from him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I submitted a prompt and I did the prompt unconsciously. Here is the original prompt:  
> "Victor/Yuuri + Dancing. Victor leading Yuuri at dancing to “Time of my Life”, Dirty Dancing style, at the GPF Banquet to remind Yuuri on what he felt back then at last year’s banquet. Everyone is amazed and that shit goes viral. Thanks Phichit."
> 
> Songs Used:  
> 1\. Turn Me On - David Guetta ft. Nikki Minaj  
> 2\. Everything I Can't Have - Robin Thicke  
> 3\. Sway - Michael Buble  
> 4\. Spanish Tango (Paso Doble) - James Horner | from the film, Mask of Zorro (1998)  
> 5\. Smooth - Rob Thomas ft. Santana  
> 6\. (I've Had) The Time of my Life - Bill Medley & Jennifer Warnes | from the film, Dirty Dancing (1987)

**Dancing With the Stars**

The events of last year’s Grand Prix Finals Banquet was a carefully hidden secret within their little community of athletes and professionals. They followed the Las Vegas rule of whatever happened in the ballroom stays in that ballroom. Even with a different venue, as last year’s event was held in Sochi and this year’s was in Barcelona, the rule stays the same. Anything that happens within these banquets are never for public knowledge.

Despite this, for Yuuri Katsuki, who was the main source of last year’s… excitement at the Sochi banquet, it was getting increasingly hard for him to not just run and hide inside a broom closet as he made his way down the hallway, passing by other athletes and staff who were congratulating him, smiles and all, on his gold medal win or congratulating him for the other gold that he has wrapped around his person.

That being the gold band that looped around the base of the ring finger on his right hand, provided by the lovely man who was walking right beside him. 

Victor Nikiforov was beaming at the congratulations for both his protégé’s win and his engagement. He was holding Yuuri’s left hand a lot tighter than necessary as they walked along the winding hallway towards the venue. It was both endearing and terrifying as he was blatantly showing off his affections again as well as restraining his fiancé; as if knowing full well that Yuuri will attempt to jump out of a window if that was the only way he can get out of potentially reliving last year’s dance-off extravaganza.

“Chris assures me that there will be no stripper poles at this venue.” Victor says as-a-matter-of-factly. “He was disappointed, of course, but he’ll get over it.”

Yuuri is still wondering as to _why_ there was a stupid pole at the Sochi event in the first place. “Please, _stop_.” He’s seen the pictures and the videos. Yuuri is not amused or pleased in the slightest, even if people tell him that doing the Superman and a half-flag with his socks on was so impressive that even pole dancers were praising him for his feats. He just wanted the ground to swallow him up.

“Oh, darling, but I fell for you hard on that night. Aren’t you happy about that?” Victor coos right against his ear. Yuuri’s back went rigid for a brief moment at the surprise proximity before he relaxes again, averting his gaze to look at anywhere but Victor’s face.

“Yes—I mean, no, no I mean yes, I am happy that you f-fell…” his voice trails away as a blush creeps up to his cheeks. “F-Fell for me but,” his voice cracks a little.

“Did I really have to be drunk out of my mind to do that?” Yuuri manages to strangle out, mortification painted on his face as clear as the night sky despite the blush at his cheeks. Victor paid no mind to it. In fact, he found it endearing as hell.

“Well, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Had you not done anything that night, we might not have reached this point in time.” Victor says happily, planting a quick kiss on his lips before he tugs on his hand again and leads him towards a pair of double doors. There was music playing in the background behind the close doors and Yuuri was confused as to why it was suddenly a lot less Tchaikovsky and Mozart and more David Guetta and The Chainsmokers this time around.

Victor simply winked and then pushed open the door and led Yuuri inside.

Last year’s banquet was formal, elegant—people wore their best suits and most refined dresses. Only the finest champagne and hors d'oeuvres was served on silver trays by passing tail-coated wait staff and the music was tasteful, atmospheric and incredibly dull piano and string arrangements provided live. People were forced to hush their voices and exchange pleasantries like they were straight out of a Jane Austen novel.

Yuuri anticipated that fact, even dressed more appropriately for it, but instead, he was faced with a dimly lit, spacious ballroom with multi-coloured lights reflecting on a giant disco ball hanging at the centre of the room, over a generous space at what should be the dancefloor—If the people dancing within that space was anything to go by—and obnoxiously loud electronic pop music playing from big speakers from a DJ booth that emitted laser light shows of varying colours and had two Air-Dancers waving about on either side of the system. There was even a bubble machine that people had fun with, trying to pop as much many as they could possibly reach for. People were still wearing suits and dresses of varying styles and colours, giving Yuuri the impression of a very rowdy American Prom night.

“You somehow singlehandedly set the standards for after parties.” Victor says, sounding like he couldn’t be any prouder of Yuuri than he already was. “Last year’s banquet definitely left an impression on all attendees that they blatantly asked it to be different this year.”

Yuuri physically blanches and makes an attempt to turn at his heels and right back out of the door again, “…I need to—“

“ _ **YOU!!!**_ ” There was a familiar voice that was marred with indignation. Yuuri turned around and managed to arch his back—how he managed to was beyond him; it was fight or flight at this point—and curl back into a ballet bridge when he dodged a roundhouse kick from the very irate Grand Prix Finals fourth placer, Yuri Plisetsky.

“What the fuck, Katsudon! This is your fucking fault!” Yuri bellows, bringing his foot down to an axe kick that was aiming right for Yuuri’s exposed stomach, had it not been for Victor’s quick hands supporting Yuuri’s back and Otabek Altin managing to pull Yuri back and away from Yuuri, the Japanese man might have broken a rib from the teenager’s attack.

“Yurio, it’s not nice to attack people.” Victor says, in the most patronizing voice he can manage as he helps Yuuri back into an upright form. Yuuri felt a little dizzy from the temporary vertigo after pulling off a move that he didn’t think he was capable of in a restrictive white formal suit.

“Fuck off, old man! This fucking pig literally is the cause of all this fucking shit!” Yuri gestures to the background behind him. Yurio was never one for these parties. Hell, not even the formal ones were to his taste.

“If he hadn’t fucking dry humped your ass—“

“Oh well, it’s a nice change of pace.” Victor cuts him off, his smile getting less brighter and more ‘trying to hold myself back’.

“Formal dinners are so boring.” Victor supplies. “And, as you can see, Yurio, everyone else is enjoying themselves so I suggest you follow suit.” Victor manages to ruffle the blonde teenager’s hair and avoids the hand that tries to swat his own away. He excuses himself from the pair—Otabek was literally just standing there, stoic-faced and not saying a word— and takes Yuuri’s hand again, leading him towards an empty table where he helped Yuuri to sit down.

“Ugh, I feel like I already drank more than sixteen glasses of champagne.” Yuuri props his elbow on the surface of the table and rests his forehead on his open palm. Victor smooths back the back of his head and presses his lips on his forehead.

“I’ll get you some water. Don’t try to drink anything alcoholic just yet.” Victor says with a wink and then swaggers off to the refreshments table to grab Yuuri his water. Yuuri didn’t know if he was to find that endearing or mortifying as hell. Both is good. He can do both. He’s certainly feeling both as the images of him at last year’s banquet return at full force, leaving him to mull it over and suffer on his own in silence.

At least, _he_ was being silent. The fact that Nikki Minaj was playing in the background certainly didn’t make his surroundings quiet.

Yuuri wasn’t left alone for too long. Almost immediately after Victor had left, there was the noise of two chairs being dragged across the hardwood floor and Yuuri looks up to find Phichit and Chris, champagne glasses in their hands and very blatantly pleased smiles plastered across their faces.

There was a sudden shudder that coursed through Yuuri’s spine. He did _not_ like the look on their faces. 

“Why aren’t you drinking anything, Yuuri? You should be celebrating after winning gold.” Phichit giddily exclaims. He had no hard feelings for Yuuri, even after he placed last; the same place that Yuuri held at last year’s GPF. Unlike Yuuri, he didn’t take it as a personal blow as he still took pride in the fact that he managed to represent his country and the whole of South East Asia and is _still_ considered one of the six best skaters of the world. 

Yuuri smiled weakly in response. “Uh, I was feeling kind of dizzy so Victor left to get me some water…” he explains lamely. 

“Even so, we need to make a toast to your two wins.” Chris begins, sliding a champagne flute with liquid that was pale pink in colour, with three raspberries that were slightly crushed, a slice of lemon and two mint leaves floating at the surface of the bubbling liquid. At the bottom of the champagne flute was what seemed to be raspberry residue, which probably explains why the fruits looked a bit crushed. Yuuri wonders if it was just overly-garnished Rose Champagne and eyes Chris and Phichit warily.

“I’m not drinking.” Yuuri replies, relieved that his tone was firm.

“C’mon, it’s just one!” Phichit exclaims, sliding it further towards Yuuri, who instinctively backs away.

“A toast to your success _and_ to your future wedding with the Victor Nikiforov!” Chris puts in happily, raising his champagne flute in the air.

Yuuri blushes at the reminder but is happy nonetheless. Phichit sighs and thrusts the glass to Yuuri’s hand impatiently. Yuuri manages to not get any of the liquid into the fabric of his suit. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle Victor’s disapproving gaze if he finds the blatantly expensive white suit that he forced Yuuri to wear be marred with pink champagne stains. Phichit raises his glass and Yuuri warily does the same.

Then, Phichit expertly takes out his phone from the inner pocket of his own suit and takes a selfie of the three of them before they exclaimed ‘Salud’ and downed their drinks.

“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“What even is it?” Yuuri asks, setting down the glass as he chews on the raspberries. “It’s a lot… sweeter and tart at the same time.”

“It’s a French Kiss cocktail.” Chris hums. “There’s an open bar this time around. I would have thought you went there immediately.“

“I’d rather have my clothes by the end of this party.” Yuuri deadpans.

“Yes, because clothes come off after at the hotel room tonight.” Victor’s voice suddenly cut in.

Yuuri can almost _hear_ the man’s wink. He flushes to the tips of his hair and Phichit lets out a guffaw and takes a photo of Yuuri before the man could block the camera’s view of his face with his hands. Chris smirks and mutters something that none of them can actually understand. It was possibly German or maybe French. He was Swiss, after all.

“Here you go, Yuuri.” Victor hands Yuuri a wine glass filled with ice water. Yuuri takes it, mutters a thank you and takes generous gulps from it. The iciness of the water burned his throat a little and he sets it down, feeling a shiver run down his spine again. Yuuri lets out a little sigh.

“Thanks.” Victor smiles and presses another kiss on his forehead. The two of them blatantly ignore Phichit and Chris daring them to do something more exciting. The four of them then proceeded to spend a good amount of time taking pictures for what seemed to be an hour with the other athletes that they knew of in the ballroom. It had gotten to the point that Yuuri felt his cheeks hurting from all the smiling he had to do as Phichit seems to have stuck to him like glue with a camera riveted to Yuuri’s general direction. He was sure that he was waiting for Yuuri to just shove a bottle of vodka straight down his throat and start belly-dancing or something.

Victor was by his side constantly as he was dutifully making sure that he met Yuuri’s request of letting him avoid all contact with alcoholic drinks for tonight, leading to people to congratulating them left, right and centre to anyone who passes them by at their table. It was an even mix of congratulations for his gold medal win and for winning the hand in marriage of _the_ Living Legend, Victor Nikiforov. The pair took it in stride. At least, Victor certainly was as Yuuri was slightly struggling to cope with the gratuitous amount of attention pointed at them.

Soon, the music shifts into something less befitting for Coachella and more So You Think You Can Dance. Couples formed and took over the dancefloor as the music shifts to something that sounded like the Salsa. Yuuri recognizes the singer and the song and unconsciously taps his feet underneath the table as he listens to the man croon about wanting everything he can’t have.

“Want to dance?” Victor asks, probably noticing Yuuri’s movements underneath the table. Of course he would. Yuuri immediately stops and eyes him sheepishly.

“Uh… Not right now. Can I go use the bathroom?”

“Why are you asking permission for that?” Victor laughs but lets him go, anyways. Yuuri gets to his feet and makes his way out of the banquet hall and back outside in the hallway. He finds Otabek and Yuri walking off, talking animatedly about something (well, Yuri, anyways) and then disappearing as they rounded a corner.

When Yuuri returns from the bathroom, he can’t find Victor at their table. Yuuri guesses that he might have been dragged off by others to have a conversation with him. He goes around looking for him still, stopping by the refreshments table as he was stopped by Mila Babicheva and Sara Crispino. Both were dressed elegantly in white and black respectively, their hair done up and adorned with matching diamante headbands. 

He has relieved himself of his glasses already as the room was quite humid and it was fogging up his view but two women were quite close with him that he didn’t have any trouble recognizing their faces.

“Have you seen Yuri anywhere?” Mila asks. “I was hoping you’d beat him at break-dancing again.”

Yuuri groans and the two women laugh.

“He went out of the banquet hall with Otabek.” He says.

“God, they’re sticking together like glue.” Mila sighs. Sara comments that she finds it cute and Mila had to nod in agreement.

“Oh well, at least he now has a friend outside of me, you and Victor.” Mila sounds like a well-meaning older sister, which Yuuri finds as an apt description for the young Russian woman.

Yuuri lets out a little chuckle. “I don’t think Yuri sees me as a friend anymore, after he accused me of causing this to happen.” Yuuri gestures his hand towards the party. 

“You did and we are thankful for it.” Sara exclaims, her violet eyes practically sparkling. Mila nods in agreement.

“Besides, he’ll get over it.” Mila assures him. “It’s given him the excuse to leave the party. He’s never one for something like this.”

“Honestly, I’d come here in jeans and a t-shirt and party the night away like you did back at Sochi. People realized that for a party celebrating their win or whatever, it was boring as fuck. Who even dances to Beethoven outside of the rink?”

“Boring people, obvs.” Mila and Sara give each other high-fives in lieu of actually voicing out their agreement. 

Yuuri didn’t know if he was to feel pleased, guilty or mortified beyond belief. He goes for all three and lets out a sheepish laugh, bring his hand to rub at the back of his neck.

“Anyways, other than that, congratulations on your engagement, Yuuri!” Sara exclaims, taking hold of Yuuri’s right hand and examined the ring. “Wow, I was surprised when you showed up to skate to Eros and suddenly see you waving about a ring. The announcers had to even comment on it! Where did you guys buy it?”

“U-Uh, I bought the ring I got for Victor at Maria Dolores…” The two seemed to know where that is and nod approvingly at his choice. “I only bought one so I don’t know where Victor got his…”

He hasn’t asked Victor as to where he got his ring, or even why he had a ring in the first place when they exchanged it outside of the Barcelona Cathedral.

The redhead nods. “General consensus is that he melted down his medals to have that ring forged for you.” Mila supplies, sounding as if she knows it’s the truth, and Yuuri looks at her with a weird expression on his face. It was a mix of aghast and flattery but he was leaning more on the former than the latter.

“Or he bought it at Tiffany’s.” Sara chimes in. Yuuri was even more afraid of that. He’s seen the price tags on the things on display there and it was making his stomach do backflips. He'll make a mental note to actually ask about the origins of his ring before Yuuri jumps to conclusions.

“It’s beautiful, still. So simple yet so refined at the same time.” Mila comments, looking at the ring with a fond expression as well. "You make Vitya so happy."

“T-Thank you…” Yuuri mumbles, his cheeks flushing pink again. Sara sets his hand down and then the two bid him another round of congratulations—on his win and his engagement—before joining the throngs of people at the dancefloor as the music shifted from Robin Thicke’s _Everything I Can’t Have_ to _Sway_ by Michael Buble.

Yuuri takes a glass of champagne—he hasn’t had anything else to drink other than that cocktail from earlier, Yuuri reasons with himself, so this was fine—and leans against the table where the empty glasses were being laid out, sipping his drink slowly. He can feel some eyes trailing towards him but he keeps his focus on the floor, listening to the music and tapping his feet to the beat. Eventually, he was joined by someone by the table and finds Victor standing in front of him, though his expression was less fondly look at him and more concerned and slightly amused at the same time.

“I leave you alone for no more than a few minutes and you’ve already managed to finish this much?” Victor sounds half-exasperated, half-admiring. Yuuri naturally trails his gaze to the empty champagne flutes and wine glasses behind him and realizes that Victor must have assumed that he must have drank all of it by himself.

Yuuri found the idea _very_ amusing. Maybe the alcohol was speaking for him already—he doubts it—but somehow, he finds himself smiling and then tossed his head back dramatically as he downs his champagne, earning him a quick glance of Victor’s shocked expression, and maybe a few more stares in the background.

“Y-Yuuri?” Victor steps a bit closer to him, taking the champagne flute from his hand and then wrapped his arm around his waist as if trying to steady him and keep him upright, “I know you’re going to be very difficult tomorrow if you lose control tonight so—“

“Victor~!” Yuuri exclaims in what he hopes was a sickeningly sweet, drunken slur. He flings his arms up and wraps them around Victor’s neck and pulls himself closer. Yuuri can practically hear the cameras being whipped out of their confines but he really can’t bring himself to care. Somehow.

Maybe in the back of his mind, he’s accepted that he’s done a lot worse than just hugging Victor, his fiancé, so this wasn’t going to be as mortifying as the last time he flung himself at him. Nearly a year ago, he dry-humped this man who was back then just a stranger he had a huge crush on. Plus, it helps that he _was_ sober, even if he was pretending to be drunk (A+ for his acting skills!).

At least he’ll remember to not make a _complete_ fool out of himself this time around.

“Dance with me!” Yuuri exclaims, still using the same drunken tone. Victor pulls away to meet with Yuuri’s gaze and Yuuri manages not to react too openly at the look of delight on Victor’s face. His blue eyes were shining and his mouth splits into a wide grin and he nods and leads Yuuri over to the dancefloor. Yuuri pretends to stagger—that was easy—and space was immediately given to them on the centre of the dancefloor.

The DJ catches on quick and Victor asks for a Paso Doble song. The DJ supplies them with what Yuuri vaguely remembers is from an old Zorro film with Antonio Banderas and Catherine Zeta-Jones. It looks to him that he’s playing Elena while Victor is Alejandro. He silently thanks Phichit for forcing him to watch that film. 

Victor holds out his hand and Yuuri takes it. As the song begins, Yuuri spins and is led into a careful dip in Victor’s arms, with Yuuri holding on to Victor’s neck while Victor had his arm snaked around his waist. They mimic their movements as they lean to the left this time and the two straighten up, chests pressed together. Yuuri had his right arm resting on Victor’s waist and Victor kept a firm grip on his own waist.

Their eyes locked unto each other. Victor leads Yuuri into a promenade, circling around the centremost space. They kept their free arms gracefully outstretched as they completed their circular pattern across the dancefloor and Yuuri takes Victor’s outstretched hand as they glide towards the centre of the dancefloor and is twirled around thrice. Yuuri’s fantastic step sequences on the ice reflect on his current footwork, easily following the silver-haired man’s movements with the grace that no drunken man should possess. They are now back to facing each other.

Yuuri immediately presses himself against Victor, running a hand down the side of the his fiancé’s face as the crescendo of the Spanish guitar begins to play, tipping his head back slowly and Victor leans forward, trailing his hot breath across what little skin Yuuri had exposed around his neck. As the violin begins to play, Yuuri’s quick footwork allowed for him to take a step back from Victor, his arms raised, his hands pointing and gestured like bull horns.

Victor brings his arms backwards, his gaze meeting Yuuri’s and a smirk curving his lips. Yuuri takes one step back, crouches down as Victor’s arms go up, their eyes never leaving each other’s gazes, and Yuuri brings himself back up, his feet tapping against the shining floors beneath him, his left hand pressed against his chest while his other arm was curved artistically in a half-circle like gesture. Victor mirrors Yuuri’s movements and they clasp their hands together as the both of them take one step towards each other. To vibrato of the guitars and violins, Yuuri tilts his head and arches backwards in the ballroom equivalent to an Ina Bauer so that the room in front of him was turned upside down while Victor anchors him, his right leg bent forwards to support Yuuri’s weight and is pulled back into an upright position.

Yuuri spins out of Victor’s hold, his arms running down his body that was straight from his Eros routine, his hands finding their way to Yuuri’s stomach. Victor was behind him almost instantly, his hands over Yuuri’[s own, his chest flushed against Yuuri’s shoulder and his hot breath fanning towards Yuuri’s ear. The two of them mimic their earlier movements, timing their steps, dips and spins to the vibrant beat of the music; their smiles never leave their faces.

As the violins and guitars build up to the final notes of the song, Yuuri brings himself low, his left leg stretching behind him and his right knee folded, his hands still intertwined with Victor’s and is pulled back up to his feet. As soon as Victor lets his hands free of his grasp and the song is about to finish with a flourish, Yuuri wrapped his arms around Victor’s neck once more, pressing his forehead close with their noses touching, lips just mere centimetres apart. Victor’s left arm wrapped themselves around Yuuri’s narrow waist as his right arm was supporting the leg that Yuuri had snaked around Victor’s form.

They exchanged breaths with one another, their locked gazes intense and burning with passion. Yuuri can see that Victor’s pupils were dilated. He was sure his were too. Their fond smiles never faltered though maybe it slackened just a bit as they tried to catch their breath.

The applause came forth as soon as the song had ended and it was explosive. It definitely wasn’t like back then when Yuuri is reminded that people were either egging him on or shuffling away from him. Right now, all attention is on him and Victor. He can’t say he likes it but he can’t say he dislikes it either.

“I wish you didn’t have to be so drunk for this.” Victor murmurs, tilting his head up so that his lips were pressed against Yuuri’s forehead. “I’d love for you to remember all this come next morning…”

To think that this man in front of him fell for someone like Yuuri who literally made a fool of himself at a high-class, straight-laced banquet by dry-humping him half-naked and challenging the room at large to a dance off was never going to cease to bring about conflicting emotions in Yuuri. The younger man felt flattered, even delighted but also felt the cold, clammy hands of horror gripping at him when he realizes _what_ he had done to get this man to fall for him in the first place.

Still, the flattery and the delight overrode the feelings of mortification pretty easily once he realizes the bigger picture—he was _marrying_ the man, after all. Things couldn’t have turned out any better than the way it has now, even if it was embarrassing in retrospect.

“Who said anything about me being drunk, though?” Yuuri whispers in his ear, voice completely normal and tinged with amusement. Victor splutters slightly, pulling his head back to catch Yuuri’s amused expression.

“Wait, so you’re not…” Victor’s disbelieving voice trails away. His eyes were wide, pupils still dilated and there was what seemed to be excitement bubbling behind his gaze.

Yuuri smiles contentedly at Victor's expression. “I’m not drunk and I don’t need to be that drunk to dance like this with you.” Yuuri says casually as he straightens up from their current position due to the song transition, which was now the opening lines to a familiar cha-cha song.

“Though you’ll have to get me completely hammered before I start any break-dancing or pole dancing competitions this time around.”

Victor blinks at him for a few moments before he throws his head back as he laughs, the sound so bright and happy that it made Yuuri’s heart flutter in his chest. Yuuri grins back at him and begins pulling him into the first steps as the song shifts to the chorus already. Yuuri takes the leads this time but Victor pays no mind to it. He was relieving the night back at Sochi where Yuuri, for the drunken mess that he was, managed to be fluid and languid in his motions as they danced at least three Hispanic dance practices in the glorious hours that Yuuri managed to stay upright. Victor doesn’t mind Yuuri taking the lead as he knows he can do it.

Cameras clicked away and Yuuri can see a particularly enthusiastic camera man somewhere in the side lines, a green something held in his hand, which can only be Phichit’s phone. Even with Yuuri’s blurry vision, he can see Phichit grinning madly, eyes wide in delight as he tries to capture this scene from every angle that he could physically manage to get. Yuuri was currently leading Victor into a promenade in the opposite direction from where Phichit was. If Yuuri squinted, he can find a mop of short blonde hair standing beside the Thai man, tie already loose and mouth split in a shit-eating grin.

“Am I boring you already, love?” Victor’s teasing tone lightly chides him. Yuuri brings his attention back to looking at Victor’s face and he gives him an apologetic smile. “Not a chance.” Yuuri says. They continue their flowing movements, their steps graceful and perfect with each glide, step and spin. The song ends and the applause comes back at full force. Victor lets Yuuri go to walk over to the DJ and asks for a different song.

Yuuri is left to stand there until the song kicks in and everyone starts to whoop and clap in anticipation. Yuuri realizes that he was suddenly Baby Houseman and Victor was Johnny Castle and the ballroom-turned-club was their holiday camp venue, complete with an anticipating audience and a few disapproving ones lingering in the background. Victor slips out of his suit jacket and tosses it to someone’s outstretched arms—was that Chris? Yuuri wasn’t too sure—and Victor strides over to Yuuri with a purpose, his smirk back unto his lips and his arm was outstretched, index finger curling inwards as he beckons Yuuri forwards. Yuuri obliges, striding over towards Victor as he loosens the tie around his neck and throwing it off over his shoulder and let Victor wrap one arm around his waist again while taking hold of Yuuri’s right hand, kissing the ring around his finger briefly before Yuuri is brought down into a dip. True to the movie, the crowd did wolf-whistle at this.

“I’m so glad I put you in a white suit. I’m dedicating this entire song and dance to you to remind you what an impact you’ve made to me.” Victor coos in his ear once Yuuri was pulled back upright and spun around so that his back was pressed against Victor’s shoulder.

“I’d say you planned this from the start.” Yuuri accuses him, but it isn’t with malice. He was happy. To think _Time of My Life_ was the one song that reminded Victor so much of the time they spent together; the time that Yuuri unfortunately forgot but is reminded now time and time again—it was enough to make him want to cry out of sheer happiness, embarrassment tossed to the wind like his inhibitions were that fateful night. He managed to hold himself together.

“Not that I mind, of course.” He amends.

“I’m glad you don’t, Baby.” Victor whispers. Yuuri brings his arm back to put a hand behind Victor’s head, running his hand through the man’s silky tresses, down his neck and then down the length of his arm.

“I hope you do Johnny some justice, Victor Nikiforov.” Yuuri cranes his neck so that their faces were mere centimetres apart. Victor was taller so his lips were right against Yuuri’s nose, which he kisses briefly before Yuuri takes a step backwards with a twirl and faces Victor once more, taking his hand and putting his other on the taller gentleman’s shoulder. They mimicked the steps from that movie’s final dance as if they practiced it for months like the skating routines they do on the ice.

Every twirl, every step, every dip and lift was done with ease. Yuuri grinds against Victor as the chorus met his ears, earning the well-deserved raucous laughter of their audience, then the pair returned to their artful dance sequence; their hips swayed in time with the beats, their arms stretched outwards in fluid motions and their steps perfectly in sync to one another. Yuuri decides to switch their roles when the song transitions into the second verse, pulling himself away from Victor’s grasp and took several steps back as Yuuri beckons the thick crowd of people, enticing them to join in on the dance.

Many obliged, of course. The music, the atmosphere and the excitement of everything was getting to them that they followed Yuuri’s steps as they form a line as they head for Victor’s general direction. The line parted as Yuuri takes several steps back and Victor is hoisted up off his feet by Chris on one side and someone who looked to be either JJ or Phichit, as Yuuri can only see a mop of black hair to be the most prominent feature—before he is brought down again so that Victor can sprint towards Yuuri, launching himself forwards. Yuuri brings his hands towards Victor’s waist and hoists him up over his head. Victor spreads his arms as if he was soaring and glances down to find that Yuuri looked amused and strained at the same time, though his hold on Victor’s frame did not slacken and only tightened to make sure he supported him.

How the man, who was supposed to be drunk, managed not to collapse under the weight of Victor’s slightly taller frame was beyond anyone’s guesses. They chalked it up to alcohol-induced adrenaline, in the end.

Yuuri brings Victor down and Victor holds unto Yuuri’s shoulders to support his own weight as he is brought back to the ground. They’re immediately glued to each other’s chest, now settling with simple steps and sways as Victor knew that Yuuri was getting tired. With the people enticed by the music, the dancefloor was now crowded as throngs of people follow their lead and try to recreate their steps or just simply sway their hips and grin against one another as if this was like any other dance club that existed. The song hasn’t even ended yet but Victor was already pulling Yuuri away off to the side lines. They hoped there were no Mr. Houseman’s to disturb them this time around.

Victor sits down on a nearby chair and pulls Yuuri to sit across his lap. Had Yuuri not remembered to play the part of a tired, love-struck drunk, he would have been flushed a darker shade of red than what he was already sporting on his cheeks from both the exhaustion that he felt from dancing so much and his go-to reaction to any proximity to him in the first place. Yuuri takes it in stride and proceeds to wrap his arms around Victor’s torso, burying his face against the crook of the older man’s neck, letting out a little sigh of content. Embarrassment can eat him later. Right now, he was content just being here.

Neither of them pay no mind at the attention that their current position gives them. They weren’t pretty subtle while all eyes were on them while they were on the dance floor. Their current position was so tame that no one can really say anything against it, especially considering their relationship wasn’t a secret to anyone present in the room. Even so, with the loud music playing in the background, the two can practically hear some cameras flashing as they were pointed directly at them.

“That is about the most vanilla lap dance I have ever seen.” Chris suddenly comes towards them and chimes that statement lightly, making a point to sound a bit disappointed. “It’s only a 3 out of 10, Yuuri.”

“Maybe the music isn’t enough for Yuuri. Should I request for Shakira?” Phichit also decides to put his own opinion, sounding just as happy as he was disappointed with Yuuri’s apparent lack of sensual movements now that he was back in what Phichit classifies as "familiar territory" for Yuuri, that being Victor's _crotch_ of all places. The Japanese man rolled his eyes, knowing full well they can’t see him. He makes a small noise as if to respond as drunk and lazily as he could manage to the two’s statements, releasing one of his arms to lazily wave it about in a dismissive sort of way then drapes it back over Victor’s shoulder.

He can feel the rumble of Victor’s throat as he lets out a chuckle. “My Yuuri has used up all of his stamina today in his excellent Free Skate and dancing with me for three whole songs.” Victor explains casually. “I think resting on my lap is a small price to pay, considering his feats today.”

Phichit scoffs and Chris eyes Victor with a knowing look on his face. “I’m sure as soon as you two are back behind closed doors that he won’t be resting anytime soon.” Phichit says, sounding as if he was biting back the urge to laugh. Yuuri bites back a strangled cry of disbelief but Victor, who has no sense of shame whatsoever when it comes to these things, takes it in stride.

“Of course. Tonight’s lap dance is going to be private.” Victor coos, his free arm reaching to take Yuuri’s outstretched arm and bring it to his lips, kissing at his knuckles.

“Can I be invited?” Chris offers lightly. Phichit asks the same question though his intentions were less likely the same as Chris's.

“I don’t know. Can you?” Victor smirks.

“Vitya—“ Yuuri groans, though it comes off less exasperated as he had intended to sound as it rolled off his tongue like a breathy purr. It was probably because he had face so close to Victor’s neck and he was fighting back the urge to be angry and laugh out loud at the same time.

“Oh, shit, it’s starting!” Phichit exclaims, whipping out his camera again. Yuuri was going to kill him if anything he takes tonight finds its way to the internet.

“Then it is our cue to leave.” Victor says simply. He takes his right arm and wounds it around Yuuri’s knees while his left was coiled around Yuuri’s waist and brought himself up to his feet, lifting Yuuri and cradling him in his arms. Yuuri plays his part well and grins goofily at Victor, “Vitya~” he coos as he wraps his arms around Victor’s neck again. Victor spins at his heels for Phichit's camera to capture their pose— _Traitor!_ Yuuri bellows inwardly—then turns away and carries Yuuri in his arms as he makes his way to the door.

"Have fun at your early wedding night!" Phichit calls back unashamedly. 

Once they were out and in the safety of being on the other side of the closed doors, Victor sets Yuuri down back to his feet.

“And here I thought you were going to sweep me back to the dancefloor.” Yuuri puts in lightly, straightening up and immediately regretting his actions of tossing his tie away. 

“Are you up for one more?” Victor asks. Yuuri smiles over his shoulder and then takes Victor’s hand. They didn’t return to the ballroom but instead had gone back to their hotel room, Victor shutting it closed and locking it behind him though he made sure that the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign that was written in both Spanish and English was hanging on the doorknob outside.

“ _Are_ you up for one more dance?” Victor asks again as he stands behind him, wraps his arms around Yuuri’s torso and buries his face in the crook of Yuuri’s neck. There was a lot more cloth than Victor would like there to be so he turns his head slightly so that his lips were brushing against Yuuri’s jaw.

“…Yes. I do believe I am.” Yuuri purrs, leaning into the embrace. Victor can almost see Yuuri’s expression change to something akin to the look he gives him whenever Yuuri skated to Eros—those half-lidded eyes gazing at Victor, dark chocolate brown burning amber with passion.

“Oh my god, Are you hard already?” Yuuri sounded amused. Indeed, he could feel something hard press against his ass but Victor unashamedly shrugs his shoulders. 

“Can’t help it.” Victor says, completely unapologetic. “I had the honour of dancing with the man who swept me off my feet months ago, forgot about it but did so again; sober this time, too and now he’s telling me we can do the horizontal tango.” Victor feels the heat radiating from Yuuri’s flushed face.

He chuckles against the man’s jaw, kisses him there once before bringing his head up and turning Yuuri’s head to face him so he can crush their lips together in a searing kiss, running his tongue down Yuuri’s bottom lip and then tasting champagne and what seemed to be raspberries when he entered his tongue into Yuuri’s mouth.

Victor breaks off the kiss, leaving a trail of saliva when he pulled away and turns Yuuri around so that he was facing him and then slips off the man’s dinner jacket and let the expensive thing pool to the floor. All the while, Yuuri used his free hands to pull off the man’s silk tie and work his way down the buttons, leaving Victor more exposed than he was but it allowed Yuuri to run his hands up and down Victor’s chest and sides.

“T-This…” Yuuri began and Victor pauses as he was unbuttoning Yuuri’s dress shirt. “ _This_ didn’t happen at the last banquet, did it?”

Victor blue eyes widened slightly as he stared at him for a few moments before processing Yuuri’s inquiry. His eyes gaze fondly at him and a low rumble bubbled up his throat, coming off as an amused chuckle. “If it did then I wouldn’t have been as jovial as I was when we met again in Japan considering I never saw you until months later.”

Yuuri laughs sheepishly and sighs in relief. Victor takes the opportunity to take Yuuri’s right hand where the ring was held and kisses it fondly. “Besides, as enamoured as I was, you were drunk and I’m not one for dubious consent.”

“….Thank God.” Yuuri breathes, sighing in relief once again. He brings his arms and wraps them around the familiar territory of Victor’s waist and pulls him close. Victor does the same and presses their foreheads together, their gazes locked as Yuuri says, “Well, I’m sober and you have my consent. Do whatever you please.”

There was a dangerous glint in Victor's blue eyes when he said, “I intend to do as much, darling.” Victor says huskily. Before Yuuri can say anything else, Victor already pushed him down on the bed, was climbing to hover over him and sealed their lips together once more that Yuuri immediately submits to with a contented sigh.

* * *

Come next morning, Yuuri did not manage to go to the downstairs breakfast banquet with the other athletes and fellow figure skaters and Victor had to explain that their gold medallist was tired and hungover, failing to mention that Yuuri was unable to walk after last night’s… horizontal tango.

Shameless as he was, he'd rather keep that private moment to himself. 

No one at the table reserved for the finalists was fooled. Victor took what should have been Yuuri’s seat and casually set his plate of food down and pulled out his phone from the pocket of his jacket. The five other skaters were gazing knowingly at each other though each of them were displaying varying levels of interest. Phichit and Chris definitely were but the rest were decidedly not.

Yurio, especially, threw the dirtiest looks he could muster at Victor, his eyes visibly tired from lack of sleep, grumbling all the while as he shoved slices of pancakes into his mouth. Otabek was sporting the same look though his stoic expression remained the same. JJ was... being himself (obnoxious as usual; even more so since he had yet to have his morning coffee). Victor pays them no mind, drinking his tea and reading the morning news from his phone, effectively ignoring Chris and Phichit’s inquiring gazes.

By the time they were all scheduled to leave, they saw that Yuuri was clinging a bit more to Victor’s side and winced a bit when he had to sit down, if they looked at him carefully enough to notice. Phichit certainly did and Chris was patting Victor on a job well done. Yuuri effectively ignored them all by shoving his earphones on and blasting whatever music playlist his phone supplied him with. 

Yuuri used this opportunity to scroll through his social media; a habit he managed to pick up some time ago after realizing it was the best way to stay in touch with others. There was one particular notification, however, that caught his attention.

"Damn it, Phichit!" he groaned. 

Phichit had broken the GPF Closing Banquet unspoken etiquette of keeping what happens within the ballroom as a private matter between the people who attended it by posting the picture of Yuuri, lifting Victor up over his head, the silver-haired man’s delighted features looking down fondly at the man he was hovering over. Even from the angle that Phichit caught it, which was their side profile, Yuuri’s fond expression was clear and directed solely at the man he was holding up. Their forms were illuminated by multi coloured lights reflecting on the disco ball and Phichit’s own face was tucked away at the corner of the photo, face split in a wide grin.

Phichit captioned it:  _ **It’s even better than the film!** @v-nikiforov @Katsuuri #YuuriKatsuki #VictorNikiforov #DirtyDancing #Victuuri_

It had approximately 1.6 million likes and about a hundred thousand comments. Many were asking if this was the wedding reception or some other event entirely since it certainly is not what the public assumes to be a high-class banquet and if Yuuri somehow has the strength of an Amazonian to be able to lift a 5’11” individual like Victor like that as he definitely did not have the lithe frame of Jennifer Grey and Yuuri was not built like Patrick Swayze.

He said he would last night, should any pictures of him and Victor's intimacy reach the claws of the internet, but Yuuri can’t bring himself to kill his best friend—he was too tired to even function from last night’s endeavours, his stamina having been depleted after yesterday's events long before he and Victor hit the sheets—but he is definitely considering _not_ making Phichit his best man.

In the end, Yuuri can't bring himself to do it when he wrote down the invitations several months later.

At the very least, it wasn't something as mortifying as him doing spread eagles on the pole. 

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus: Yurio and Otabek were platonically sharing a hotel room last night, drinking fruit juices and watching reruns of Spanish late night soap operas to amuse themselves. That is until the couple returned to their hotel room. They were right next door to the happy couple and even with Catalina y Sebastian on full volume, they could not escape the noise. No sleep was had that night until the noises stopped.


End file.
